


Skamania County

by Sarie_Fairy



Category: The X-Files
Genre: A nice walk in the forest, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, MSR, bed sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29674221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarie_Fairy/pseuds/Sarie_Fairy
Summary: After a gruelling case, Mulder invites Scully to join him for a nice walk in the forest. Some downtime in nature, together. Scully discovers Mulder has another reason for being there; something all too familiar. As they go deeper into the woods, they delve deeper into some of the bigger questions of the unknown. When an incident and a snowstorm leaves one of them in a life-threatening situation, they are both forced to confront their feelings for one another.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 19
Kudos: 59
Collections: X-Files Dialogue Fanfic Exchange (2021)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emeraldsoleil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeraldsoleil/gifts).



> Hi Heather. I'm sorry I had to ask for the weeks grace and I thank you for waiting for this. Life happened. This is the first of four chapters, that I'll post over the next day or two.
> 
> I enjoyed trying to breathe life into your wonderful prompt, and I really hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Dialogue: “If I were dying, I’d want to call you. But you’re already here, so there’s no need.”

“Mulder, I’m ready.”

Pushing a flop of hair from his brow with the back of his hand, he licked at his lips. “Okay, okay,” he said, reassuring himself more than responding to her. 

By the light of a half dozen candles and a fire glowing warmth into the room, his fingers gained purchase from their place over her bare flesh; stretched taut across her ribs. Concentration drawn in the furrow of his brow, his breath panted into small visible puffs above her. Scully looked up at him, from her position on her back, lying on the bed. One arm on the pillow above her head, the other draped across her, holding her naked breasts under her forearm.

“Mulder,” she said, “I trust you.”

~~~

**_11 hours earlier…_ **

**Wind River Highway, Washington State**

**7:46 am**

The rented Ford Taurus swept a littering of leaves up into swirls in its wake. Cold light patch-worked over the road; early morning sun not yet clearing the trees that rose, looming either side of the quiet highway. The cab of the car was warm, windows condensed from the heater and conversation. 

“So, tell me again why we’re here, Mulder,” Scully queried from the passenger seat.

“Just a nice trip to the forest, Scully,” he replied and threw her a typical cheeky look.

“Hmm,” she sounded, sceptically.

“Look, we’re in the area. A whole weekend after a pretty shitty case, why not before we head home. You like nature, right?”

“Sure,” she said slowly, studying him. He glanced at her. Wiggled his brows, and she couldn’t help but grin. “Sure, I do. A hike in the forest would be a nice change.”

Mulder reduced sped as they reached the town of Carson; a pretty little place on the banks of the Columbia River. Scully looked up as they drove under a banner stretched across the main street, examining the sign telling of an event set for the following weekend.

“Mulder!!!”

SASQUATCH MUSIC FESTIVAL, it read.

~~~

**Gifford Pinchot National Forest, Washington State**

**9:57 am**

“Come on, Scully, get those little legs a-movin’,” Mulder called over his shoulder as he strode along a walking track, Scully trailing. They were both dressed casually, warm clothes and oversized jackets, hiking boots and day packs.

The air was frigid. Humidity gathering, rising from the earth, seeping from the lofty trees, barely holding back the threat of snow.

“So, to be clear, tell me again, Mulder—?” She let the sentence go, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t. “Are we really just here to enjoy the serenity nature has to offer on this freezing winters day?”

“Well, there have been more sightings in the area lately—of..,” he trailed away.

“—of... sasquatches?”

“Yep,” he confirmed, “more than usual for around here. And…” Mulder broke off once more.

“ _And…_?”

“And, a man named Earl Abernathy went missing around here a week ago. His car was found abandoned in the car park. They called off the search, though. Didn’t find him.”

“And this man, Mulder. What about _this_ man?” Scully said dubiously, probing for more information. Unsurprisingly, none of the revelations were surprising to her. 

He scoffed; _did she ever know him._

“Um,” he swallowed, looked about. “Um, he’s the president of the local ‘Bigfoot Lives’ society.”

“‘Bigfoot Lives’ society,” Scully repeated under her breath. “I see,” a knowingness to her voice, though a familiar fondness too.

It was quiet, other than their footfall and low chatter. Snow clouds gliding across the sky, glimpsed through the canopy, seeming to cease the noises from any forest fauna. 

“So,” Scully began again, double stepping to catch up to him. “—what happens if we find this thing, Mulder?” She smiled up at him when he turned to regard her. 

“Um,” he reflected, stopping short to ponder, and she almost bumped into him. 

“You don’t know, do you?” she proposed in a gentle voice, capturing his gaze by ducking her head to find it.

“I thought I would,” he considered, setting pace again. “Well, I can’t shoot it,” he smirked. He shot him a confused look. “I read that there’s an actual local law around here that states it’s illegal to hunt the gentle bigfoot.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It's true.”

“Between that, the Bigfoot Society—that incidentally, might need a new president,” she grinned, “—and the annual sasquatch festival, Mulder, these are your people.”

“Ha,” he scoffed jovially. _No,_ he thought, _you’re my people, Scully._

The towering trees set about swallowing them further as they pushed on, sunlight unwelcome as they advanced into the dark wood.

~~~

If Mulder were to give a reason as to why Scully accepted his invitation to follow him into the wintery woods that day, he might say it was the same reason she accepted a very early or very late birthday gift and met him at his local ballpark, not so long ago. Not something to contemplate for too long, not ready to settle on a reason, but so very elated she was there. Pleased he somehow knew that she would say ‘yes’, when he asked her the previous evening from his motel room, side by side with hers. Calling her at ridiculous o’clock, waking her and making her laugh in that sleepy voice of hers. The one he wished he could bottle.

She fell into step beside him as the first snow fell—the trail snaking by a stream, swift water sweeping leaves away like tiny boats from childhoods past.

“I know I’ve said this before, but you already believe, Mulder. What difference would it make?”

“Well, _you’d_ see. And maybe then you wouldn’t think me so crazy,” he chuckled.

“Mulder,” she began, “nothing would make me think you’re not crazy,” teasing him. And he smirked a reply.

~~~

If Scully was to say why she was there that day, she would, well, she _had_ told herself that Mulder needed supervising. That when his singlemindedness would single in, he would not pay attention to other things. To his safety. She hadn’t pressed beyond why his safety was so paramount to her, that she would give up her precious weekend to tag along. She hadn’t let her brain go there. Yet.

Despite the knowledge of an ulterior motive, Scully was enjoying herself. Being with Mulder, outside of work. A contented feeling settled inside. A sense of having moved beyond a blackness, she felt unified with him that they had somehow emerged together, from a darkness. 

“It’s perfectly reasonable that you believe in conspiracy theories, Mulder,” she stated warmly, “because they sometimes do happen. People do trick and hide and deceive. But, usually, the simplest explanation is the correct one.”

~~~

The trail twisted and turned, undergrowth brushing at their boots. Despite the cold, he felt warm. Or was that calm that engulfed him? As they walked together, Scully chatted and he listened. Enjoyed the surrounds, the forest. And them, together. Smells of nature, the soft crunching of the leaves beneath their feet and Scully. Scully by him, gently offering reason, whilst giving him clemency for his beliefs. It didn’t matter what she was talking about, not really. 

“—And people in the past made up all sorts of stories to explain the unexplained. Dinosaur bones became legends of dragons. Thunder—the gods are angry at us. It made sense.” 

As they walked and she talked, he regarded her with sideways glances and encouraging expressions. He watched as a snowflake fell and landed on her cheek, unnoticed, and melted away, before another landed, kissing her luminous skin.

“—crops all died,” she continued, “not due to an unknown virus in the wheat, but because the farmer had an affair with the kitchen hand.”

“Ooo,” Mulder said joyfully. “Did he, now? Scandalous.”

“My point is, they were explanations. A way to give meaning. But we have science now. And in lieu of a reasonable explanation, might we not just say – _I don’t know?_ I don’t know what those lights in the sky are, but that doesn’t make them alien.”

“Hmph,” he sounded. “Unless you’ve seen more than just lights in the sky, Scully.”

Bumping into his side affectionately, he pressed back onto her too. They continued, deeper into the wood, tethered together by an ineffably bond. They each felt it, though they had both become comfortable leaving it without definition. Unexplained.

~~~

There were pieces of Scully that thought it was endearing when Mulder sped up, ran out in front of her. Fussed around something he saw on the ground and told her to “check this out!” His hair flopping over his forehead that way it did. “Tracks.”

“Bear?” Scully queried, catching up to him.

He was excited. Alive, when he was in pursuit. 

There was another part of her that saw a red flag in those things. Perhaps a kind of post-trauma attached to her when she witnessed him beginning down the infinite rabbit hole; chasing the ghost of his sister.

“Wait,” he exclaimed after looking up sharply at something. Then he was gone. Took off without her. 

He was fast.

Leaping off the track.

“Mulder, stop! Wait up.” 

Scully gave chase, though, what with the trees and the forest floor debris, it was hard to catch him. He could out a run horse; she was sure of it. 

Losing sight of him, she paused. A minute had passed in quiet. Scully turning, seeking colour or movement.

“Mulder!!” she called. Looking about her, the snow had begun to really fall. “Mulder,” she called again. 

Silence and still. 

“It’s a whiteout,” she called out again, spinning in a circle. “Mulder, I can’t see you. Mulder!” 

Then she heard him, “Scullay! Scullaay,” she heard once more, relief flooding her.

“Mulder, keep calling, I’ll come to the sound of your voice—oh shiiiiitttt!” she yelped as her foot failed to meet the ground. And over an edge, she fell. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Gifford Pinchot National Forest, Washington State**

**2:17 pm**

Awareness stirred. Sensors prickling as cognisance began to return.

Auditory. _Scully!_ over and over. Distant, then closer, then further away again. Growing more and more desperate. A wind, high in the trees, howling a song through the canopy.

Pain. _All over_. No, right hypochondriac region, not everywhere. Head; temporal, hurt a little. Ankle, _broken?_ No, sprained. She was on top of something—not the ground? Softer. 

Vision. Eyes flicked opened, blinking; snowflakes, drifting down, almost obscuring the treetops that transcended above.

And cold. So cold.

“Scullay!!!”

“Mulder, Mulder,” she called out to him.

“Scully,” he yelled, clipped. “Scully,” close.

“Mulder, I’m down here.”

Fast-paced heavy steps, twigs snapping; dirt, leaves and small rocks tumbled down. Up high, she saw him, peering over a ledge.

“Scully,” he panicked.

“I’m okay. I landed on something soft, _sort of._ ”

It was then she managed to roll over, move from where she had fallen as Mulder began to descend. As she did, a sharp pain tore at her torso, and her head throbbed.

“Hold on,” he assured.

It was pliable, yielded as she shoved away.

“I’m coming down there, Scully,” he soothed.

And … _furry?_

_Oh, fuck!_

“Mulder, I landed ... I landed,” she stuttered, staring at where she'd just lay. “—oh my God, Mulder,” she gasped, dragging herself backwards until she struck the trunk of a tree. “I landed on … on … a … um … some type of ... _hominid_ ,” she quavered. 

“What?” he blurted.

“It’s dead; whatever it is, it’s dead,” she panted.

“Hang on, I’m almost there. Scully, did you hit your head?” he queried.

Holding onto small branches and tree roots that stuck out of the steep embankment, he looked over his shoulder as he finalised his decline. Scrambled his way down, like a compass point finding its pole, making his way back to her.

Both feet on the forest floor, and he saw it too; a beast of considerable size—perhaps Mulder’s height—supine and lifeless. Partially obscured by forest debris, it was covered in pale fur, ruffling in the growing breeze. He all but glanced at it, only having eyes for Scully as he rushed to her. Crouching over her legs, which were stretched out in front of her, he held her shoulders, squared her to him. Caressing her face, he cooed, “Scully,” and scanned her features. Had to see, feel, that she was alive, that she was okay.

“Mulder, I’m fine,” she assured him as he continued his attention, slowly pulling strands of her hair from a bloodied laceration on her forehead. 

“Scully,” he fretted, “are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Mulder,” she said bewildered. “Did you not just see?” Indicating behind him with a nod.

“Um, yeah, okay,” he answered and stood to turn around. Walking the few steps back, he squatted himself in front of what might change everything. Proof. Tangible, undeniable _proof_.

He ran his hands over its body. Adrenaline building as he examined it. Human-like. A limb sticking out at an odd angle: broken. It faced away, neck twisted toward the bottom of the small ridge it must have fallen down. Light coloured coat; _good camouflage in the snow_ , Mulder surmised, as he pulled at, and parted its fur.

_Oh._

Realisation painted itself in his expression, brows climbing his forehead, jaw loosening, and the beginnings of an astute smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He moved then to its feet. It’s _big_ feet. Looking over at Scully, he held on to one of the creature’s ankles.

“Mulder, what is it?” she responded as he began to pull. 

“I think you found the missing Earl Abernathy, Scully,” he told her as he dropped back, a big hairy, _empty_ , foot in his grip—leaving a pale human one in its wake.

Scully’s mouth fell open. “Oh,” was all that came out.

“I think he must have fallen down here, as you did. Banged up pretty bad, and then froze to death.”

~~~

Scully was cold, couldn’t feel her toes. _Might she freeze to death, too?_ Hypothermia could kill exceptionally quickly if one was not dressed correctly. It would set in much faster if one was wet. Scully was wearing sensible gear, so… But, she felt cold. _Wet._ Felt a dampness on her skin, under her clothing. It didn’t make sense. Her head hurt; mind foggy.

Watching Mulder as he wandered around seeking cell phone reception, she felt his disappointment acutely. Almost as if she was more disappointed _for_ him, than he was at not, in fact, discovering the missing link.

He wanted to believe so badly, and she, well, she wanted it more somehow. Wanted all of those things that science could never say were the truth to come alive and absolve him. To release him. Unburden him, so that he might be free. 

“I’ve called Skamania County search and rescue,” he began as he ended his call and returned to her. “They’re going to send a team out. Come get you.” He smiled at her, and lowered, ran his palm along her leg, gently feathering his touch over her ankle, which had already begun to swell. “Law enforcement is sending out a recovery team too. From my description of him, they do agree that it is most likely the missing man.”

They both looked over at the dead man, demasked, falling snow, giving the body an early icy burial. Mulder had marked the area with a strip of FBI tape that he’d located in the bottom of his pack.

“Poor Earl,” Scully mused, shaking her head. “I do wonder…” she trailed off.

“What, what is it?” Mulder asked.

“No, it’s nothing. Just ... sad.”

Settling in front of her, Mulder tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek. In a tender voice, he said, “I’ve got to get you out of this weather.” He looked up, hair whipping about his face. “It’s about to get really bad, they said. There’s a hunter’s cabin about a quarter-mile from here, upstream.” Gesturing with his chin, he pointed in the direction they were to head. “They’ll come and find us there.”

He stood, collecting both of their packs before bending and scooping her up too—as though he might carry her over a threshold.

“Argh,” she strangled, wincing in pain.

“What? What is it?” He panicked, their faces so close her hot breath cut across his cheek.

“Mulder, I think—” She manoeuvred in his arms, reached up under her jacket. Pulling her hand back, it was smeared with bright red blood. 

“Oh, shit!” Mulder ejected. “Oh, fuck.” 

She stared at him, eyes imploring. 

Still cradling her, he looked around desperately, eye focusing. He saw it then, a sharp tree root by the body, that must have snapped off when he fell. It was tinted crimson, dripping.

“Scully put your hand back up there. Put pressure on, okay?” he directed resolutely. She nodded quickly, and bit her lip, returned her hand under her jacket.

“I think it’s best we find that shelter, and then I can get a good look.”

~~~

**Clark hunter’s cabin,** **Gifford Pinchot National Forest, Washington State**

**5:37 pm**

It was on nightfall when Mulder arrived at the cabin with Scully, all but passed out in his arms. The side of her face nestled against his chest. Turning, he pushed his back through the rickety door into the small, dank wooden room.

Making haste, he carried her over to a bed in the corner, carefully deposited her on top of an old comforter. Dropping their packs, he sunk to the floor beside her.

“Scully,” he soothed, caressing her hair.

“Mmm?” she responded, opening her eyes and turning her head to regard him.

“I’m goin’ take a look, okay?”

She nodded affirmation and wriggled into position, flat on her back.

With shaking hands, he reached up under her chin and carefully unzipped her jacket, revealing a murky blotch, soaked through her sweater. Focused, he carefully flicked the button of her fly undone, started to untuck the fabric from her pants, began pulling.

“Argh,” she grimaced. “Mulder, just cut it,” she croaked, raising her head. “Scissors. Get my medical kit. In my pack.”

Wailing wind banged the door in its frame, and branches scratched at the one filthy window as he grabbed for her backpack. Fumbling through it, he found a small flashlight and clicked it on to aid in his search. Locating the kit, he found what he had been looking for and leaned over the mattress. At the hem of her sweater, he began with a snip, began cutting it along with her cotton undershirt.

Her teeth chattered as the edge of the scissors slid gently up her abdomen. Slipped across her stomach, over her sternum, snip, snip, snip.

He drew back the sides of her freshly sliced clothing. “ _Fuck,_ ” he gasped at what he saw in the remnants of the dying light from a winter's dusk, barely making its way through storm clouds and dirty glass. 

A dark line of black blood sat gelatinous within a two to three inch long gash, the flesh at the edges swollen and twisted out. Without any fabric to soak it up, blood began to ooze down her side. Looked even darker and more ominous on her pale, almost blue flesh. She was so small and pale and cold. And he was terrified. Terrified that the dark liquid compelling out of her was taking her with it. Down her satiny skin, staining the blanket. Drifting away into nothingness. And might this time, he follow? 

Scully touched his arm, encouraging him to look at her. “Let me see,” she requested. “There should be a stainless-steel mirror in my first aid kit; fetch it for me?”

Aided by the flashlight, Scully examined the reflection of her injury. “It’s deep,” she reported. “Though it doesn’t look like I’ve nicked anything internally. Thank God for ribs, huh?” she joked.

“Thank god,” he repeated on an exhaled.

“It’s bleeding a lot, though,” she continued. “Can take longer to clot in the cold,” she mused under her breath. “It’ll definitely need stitching.” 

“They’ll be here soon,” he reassured her, the lump in his throat ever so slightly shrinking. “Then we can get to a hospital, and it'll all be okay. It'll all be okay,” he said again.

Scully blinked heavily. Blinked a few times more, then her eyes stayed closed. 

Mulder looked about the dark room. Flashlight beam frantically spotlighting over the sparse items. A small pantry shelf with tins, some with labels, others a mystery. A surprise. A kettle and some chipped enamel mugs. An open fireplace, dry wood piled beside it; _thank god._ The walls disappeared, blackness, but for the inside of Scully’s pack; illuminated once more. He grabbed a packet of gauze and tore it opened. Pressed it over where the blood was coming from, the gash just under her bra. Held it firm.

“It'll all be okay,” he said again. “It'll all be okay,” like a mantra, and he set about dressing her wound.

~~~

Minutes passed, or was it hours? Days? _Lifetimes._ Mulder’s scent heavy in the air. The particular way he breathed, hard and shallow and audible— _panicked_. Was she dreaming?

_“Scully.”_

A flickering orange glow tripped across her perception, as she opened her eyes, Mulder by her. His worried expression pained into a smile.

A fire was burning. Numerous candles danced shadows around the walls to the rhythm of the storm that raged beyond the sanctuary of the tiny room. The noise from outside invaded. Thunder split the sky as lightning strobed over the dusty relics in the ancient cabin. Wind and cold crept in, uninvited, through gaps in the door and window; the floorboards and log walls. Little snowflakes trespassed, swirling in the fingers of light from the flames.

“Scully,” he said again, and she felt him attending to her forehead. Her ankle had been strapped up too.

“Mulder,” she said, “I’m cold.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll warm you up. I’ve put on some water to boil,” he told her, his voice steady, belying something worrying in his expression.

“What is it, Mulder. What’s wrong?”

“They’re not coming”, blurted. “They called, and … snowstorm is too intense. I’m sorry... _fuck,_ I’m so sorry I got you into this.”

“Mulder. It’s okay.”

“You’re freezing, Scully. You’re bleeding, and … and … your lips are turning blue,” he projected over the roaring wind.

“They can’t come and get you, not until the storm breaks. Not by air, and by foot… the conditions… I think trying to walk you out, carrying you, would… _fuck_ …,” he said again, tapering off. Bold panic flashed across his features, and he bowed his forehead to the mattress beside her.

“Mulder,” she said, reaching across to him and running her fingers through his hair. “Mulder,” she coaxed again, and he lifted his head, regarded her.

“I don’t know how to help,” he confessed. He took a sharp breath, brows pressed together, tears holding along his lash line. She looked at him, steadied his breath with her own.

“Mulder, I have a suture kit too. It can't wait.”

“Okay?” he said, looking concerned, though somehow hopeful. “I've water boiling. I was going to make tea, but you could use that, right?” he said all at once. “Tell me, what do you need?”

Sliding her palm across the bed, she found his hand and gripped it within her own.

“Mulder,” she told him slowly, “I need you to do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, the concluding chapters will be posted over the next few days.


End file.
